My first open mic! This poem touches the internal pain I felt as an artist who hid her work. Is there even a point to writing if no one reads it?

Oh my plight! Before finally DOING something about it.

How many hours - days…years? - of my life have I spent lamenting that my words ought to be inscribed on someone - anyone! - other than the pages of my journal.

I still have those days. A million ideas live inside me, and perhaps I’ve surrendered to the fact that they can’t all come to fruition. But boy am I glad that this poem no longer (fully) resonates with where I am.

I tackle that stomach-tightening quandary on stage with my first attempt at spoken word.